


An Object of Beauty

by boychik



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Drabble, F/M, haku's eternal suffering, non-otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychik/pseuds/boychik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(no mercy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Object of Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy making fun of Haku's eternal suffering...it's supposed to be comedic but I have a really weird sense of humor ;;;;;;

Hakuryuu sees Morgiana in the dusky light as an object of beauty. 

The day is slowly fading, turning the blues and grays of the sea into a fuzzy line and filling the sky with colors like the afterimages of fireworks: red and green and violet and gold.

The back of her hair is flapping fiery red in the seaside breeze. The tips of her hair fall to just above her breasts. He catches on that lovely swell for a moment but drags his eyes up. Even though he’s a prince, it’s still a bit of a challenge. 

He wants to take her hand.

He wants to twist her wrists above her head and pin her to the rocky wall and never-endingly drink in her lovely mouth.

He can’t help but picture her as a Kou princess for an instant, all flowing robes and ornate jewels, even a heavy headdress framing her perfect face as she gazes down at him, imperial, gorgeous, commanding to all but yielding her plush, willowy frame to Hakuryuu. Only Hakuryuu. She’s more beautiful than any woman in the world to him—more so than the buoyant Kougyoku or the razor-like Hakuei, and he thinks her just as strong, if not stronger—but he shakes the image loose as quickly as it flashes into his head. It doesn’t suit her at all.

Here in the moonlight, she wears no adornment but the laces on her legs and the shackle around her wrist and her simple white dress. She looks so clean and pure. Hakuryuu wants to sweep her up off her feet—cliché as that sounds—and spirit her away to a land all their own. It would suit him to just stay there with her on some sort of tropical island, hand in hand, heads in the clouds, for as long as he wanted…

“Lady Morgiana,” he breathes, but somehow she is falling towards him, she is reaching forward, she is clasping his hand. Morgiana’s hand is in his hand. Just resting. Her hand is so small compared to his, and it has a cool, even weight. The discrepancy in color and texture excites him. Can she feel the steam of the blush spreading along the line of his scar? Can she smell the sweat blooming under his arms, at his temples? Even just holding her hand is enough to make him feel lightheaded, like his soul is full of tiny alcohol bubbles rising and popping in a steady stream. Hakuryuu is going to burst.

After a moment he regains a bit of his composure. It’s not much, but enough to manage another light, “Mor.” But then he stops speaking, letting her silence wash over the two of them and fill the night.

Just then, Morgiana squeezes his hand. And just like that, his hand drops to the ground. 

_That_ —here Hakuryuu employs a most unprincely word— _Zagan!_ he thinks. The bubbles have suddenly vanished, leaving a clear, angry whiteness like the wake of a sword’s slash in his mind. Morgiana and Hakuryuu leap backward instinctually—too many battles fighting off hordes of thieves and assassins and warlocks and djinns to risk getting close to whatever that hand holds.

But nothing comes out of the hand.

Hakuryuu’s ears burn.

All his foolish, unspoken words— _Lady Morgiana, I love you! You’re so beautiful and kind and strong. Lady Morgiana, come away with me! Lady Morgiana, be my empress!_ —buzz hollowly in his head. How could he be so stupid?

Morgiana is simply too strong.

Too strong for him, and too strong for this world.

It is then that an awful moment passes, both Hakuryuu’s and Morgiana’s eyes locked on the fallen hand. Hakuryuu almost wishes for the fingers to twitch, for the stump to bleed, for some small change that could alter the atmospheric pressure as does the butterfly effect just enough to ease the burden of that awkward silence.

But there is no mercy for Hakuryuu.

Morgiana is speechless on the beach, eyes huge, mouth agape. The moonlight slants across her features charmingly. Hakuryuu would have liked to have seen it, but he had already turned his back in shame. Holding his one remaining hand to his chest, he hobbles away, made by woman just another crippled fool.


End file.
